Paperlegends: Last Turn of the Spiral (Part Two)
MERLIN
Merlin wakes up to the sound of his mini Screen pinging politely but persistently and buries his head in his pillow, muffling curse words until he feels cold paw pads on his bare back.
“Ow. Fuck, all right, all right.” He bats his hand vaguely until the pressure lifts and he can roll on to his back.
He sighs and rubs his eyes, looking at the time on his display. It’s early, but the first logistics meeting is today and the last thing he needs is to be late and have Arthur give him a look. He needs all of his shit together today.
Merlin pushes to sitting and sighs when he’s faced with large orange eyes, looking at him expectantly.
“All right, all right I’m getting up you useless animal.” He puts his feet on the floor and wriggles his toes against the ThermaTile, pushing them into the warmth and letting it travel up his legs.
He activates his Screen, before going into the kitchen and dropping some obscenely expensive organic catfood in the bowl on the floor before going through the motions of making himself tea and toast. He remembers just before the meeting begins to pull a shirt over his head.
Well, all right maybe not all of his shit is quite together but -
A memory flashes, sudden and strong, and Merlin has to stop, or stagger under the weight of it. The strange thing is, it’s not Arthur this time. It’s always been Arthur before, a flash of blue eyes, or blonde hair enough to stagger him and make him trip over his own feet and catch his breath on a burst of pain.
Even though they’d ended things three years ago, sometimes Arthur could still trip Merlin up. But this time … this time Merlin catches a glimpse of dark curls, and green eyes that have seen too much for the smooth skin of the face they’re in; of a mouth twisted in a world-weary smirk …
Taking Gwaine’s advice to visit the Flesh District and - as his friend had so elegantly put it - “Fuck him out of your system, Merlin, it’s been forever. Save up your credits, get laid properly, and move on.” Gwaine had said it more than once, so often in fact that a few nights ago - after another night of feeling like he could step out of his own skin, his magic bubbling in frustration through his blood - Merlin had impulsively left his flat and found a ‘scoot; taking off before he could talk himself out of it.
Now, as he settles in front of his screen and waits for everyone else to sign in for the meeting, he wonders why he ever thought he’d be able to just... fuck and run, even with a Shunter. He sighs, biting into his toast, resigning himself to the meeting ahead, and the inevitable distraction to follow. He can tell himself as much as he likes that he’s not going back; he’s not going to seek Mordred out, that it was just a fuck and run, but he’s got hard green eyes in his mind now, and needs to know what it would take to make him see wonder again.
Arthur signs in first, and Merlin tells himself all over again that it doesn’t hurt to see Leon with them, to see the scattered remains of an early breakfast and an easy intimacy between them, and then he realises something. It doesn’t hurt, and yes, all right, it’s been getting easier, but there was always a pang of nostalgia and regret; a cold, icy shiver running through him just briefly, doing its damage before dissipating.
But now … Merlin doesn’t feel anything in particular. Oh, he and Arthur are friends, will always be friends and maybe Gwaine was smarter than Merlin had thought because for the first time, the thought doesn’t hurt.
Arthur raises an eyebrow on the Screen as it divides to show Percy and Elyan, the latter yawning and nursing what Merlin knows is some very serious contraCoffee.
“Are you all right there Merlin? You look a bit more vacant than usual.” The insult is casual and easy, reflecting his and Arthur’s years and years of being together and not-together but still not able to not be in each other’s lives.
Gwaine snorts as his face comes in on another split, then Lance and Gwen follow, then Morgana, and they’re all there; and Merlin doesn’t get to answer because his bloody cat gets up on the table and gives Merlin a reproachful look before settling in for a nice tongue bath in front of everyone.
The others ignore it, used to the cat and its strange ways.
Arthur looks at Merlin for a beat longer, before turning to his own miniScreen, scrolling through what Merlin knows are very detailed notes.
“Right,” he says, “We’re all here, and we’re on a tight timetable, so let’s get on with the meeting, yeah?”
Arthur takes control easily, like he’s been born to it - which, of course, he has; being the only son of Uther Pendragon, and therefore the heir to Pendragon Corporation. He scans through the ‘Screen again before glancing up.
“We have a flight path date … six weeks from now. It sounds like a lot, but it’s not really that long to organise a ship, supplies, and organise one thousand miners and their families …”
Merlin nods along in the right places, occasionally making notes on his own miniScreen, but not paying close attention beyond the dates of the flight. Being at the Strip at the right time is crucial because the ‘Net will have to be opened to let the craft through, and anyone not on board at the right time will be left behind.
He glances at Gwen, who’s listening intently, making her own notes. She and Merlin will be the MedTechs for the mission, and Gwen’s husband Lance will act as ship’s surgeon, a responsibility he takes very seriously, Merlin knows, as the surgeon is one of the few on board who can override the captain’s orders if he deems it necessary.
Merlin’s glance flickers automatically to the others as Arthur outlines their duties for the next six weeks, on into the mission itself.
Percy is the Quartermaster for the mission, meaning he’s responsible for all the ship’s supplies, food, medical, even bedding. He’s frowning in concentration, nodding along, smiling slightly when Arthur tells him that he’ll have an assistant for this one.
“Not that you’re not a great QM, Percy, you are, but we’ve never tackled something this big before,” Arthur says, leaning forward, his gaze earnest.
“I know, Arthur, it’s fine. It’s definitely a two-man job.”
Arthur smiles and turns his gaze to Elyan, moving on to talking about navigation and piloting, Elyan nodding, as calm as ever. It’s soothing watching Percy and Elyan together, watching them quietly co-ordinate their schedules and to-do lists. He feels a bit wistful for a moment, sighing to himself as he scratches behind the cat’s ears, listening to it purr with a lazy somnolence.
“Merlin, you and Gwen get together with Lance sometime soon, and make a thorough inventory of the ship’s MedLabs - detail everything that you have, and everything that you need, for Percy. Once we get started on this mission, we won’t be back for a long time, and the first starbase is along way away.
It feels a little bit like Arthur’s telling Gwen and Merlin how to do their jobs, and on another occasion Merlin might have argued with him about it, but time really is of the essence, so he just makes a note and half-listens as Arthur and Gwaine discuss the ship’s Transitive Core and other obscurely engineering things that Merlin can’t hope to understand.
He taps out a message to Gwen, arranging a time to meet up with her and Lance the next day, and she nods quietly as Arthur turns to Morgana.
“Have I forgotten anything oh great leader?” Arthur asks his sister, his face lit up with a teasing smile.
Morgana just rolls her eyes and taps her own screen neatly. She scans down her list and shakes her head. “No - you’ve covered everything, Arthur. I’ll be your Earth Liaison at PenCorp, and from here on, we’re all going to be insanely busy.”
Arthur pushes a hand through his hair, making it stand up and some sense memories still catch Merlin out, because he feels the urge in his fingertips to reach out and smooth it down, an action he’s done many, many times. He clenches his fist under the table instead and bites back a sigh.
“Right, I think that’s enough for a few more days, we’ve all got stuff to do. Let’s have our next meeting in person, say three days from now, here at our flat. Nine o’ clock?”
Everyone nods and murmurs agreement before the screens flicker and darken one by one, leaving Merlin alone in his flat, not sure whether he’s staring at his past, or his unknown future.
He’s about to move - tidy away his breakfast dishes, have a shower, start on his list, when his Screen flickers back to life and Arthur’s face is there, the small icon showing that he’s opened a private channel.
Merlin resists the urge to rub his hand over his face, and sits down again, dislodging the cat from the table, ignoring its indignant squawk.
“Did you forget something, Arthur? I’m going to meet with Gwen and Lance tomorrow …”
Arthur shakes his head and leans forward. “No - I just wanted to - are you all right Merlin?”
Merlin stares at Arthur blankly for a moment before sighing heavily.
“I’m fine, Arthur. I’m just … tired. I, uh, stayed up late a couple of nights ago, that’s all. Having trouble catching up on sleep.”
Arthur narrows his eyes and Merlin resists the urge to shift under his steady gaze. He doesn’t owe Arthur anything - not anymore. Going to the Flesh District isn’t illegal; looking for physical comfort certainly isn’t and it’s really none of Arthur’s business.
“I just … we’ll be travelling together for a long time, Merlin. I just want to make sure things aren’t going to be awkward. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Me too,” Merlin says softly, before he can catch himself. “It’s - it’s been three years, Arthur. We’ve managed to work together before; on shorter missions, when things were - a lot more … raw. I - it might be awkward for a while, I suppose, with Leon on board, and - everything but - I’ll be fine. I promise.
“You have enough to do without adding worrying about me to your list.”
Arthur’s mouth curls up into a small smile, his blue eyes warm on Merlin’s Screen. “No matter what happens, Merlin, I’ll always worry about you.”
Merlin nods, and scrubs at his eyes, feeling the grit of not enough sleep under his lids.
He catches on a yawn, and vaguely hears Arthur snort.
“Well, you’re no good to any of us if you’re falling asleep, Merlin. Go - take a nap or something. I’ll see you at mine in a few days.”
Merlin nods, waving his hand vaguely as Arthur breaks the connection. He considers his bed briefly, almost seduced by the idea of the warm, rumpled nest he’d left behind, but he knows he’d just wake up far too late, and far too groggy.
He puts his dishes in the kitchen, then shuffles towards the bathroom, looking forward to a hot shower, and honestly, a good, old-fashioned wank. Merlin laughs to himself as he switches on the spray, waiting for it to heat up, and feels his shoulders loosen.
He’ll make his list, make himself dinner and then … well, Merlin thinks as he strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. Then he’ll just have to see what happens.
Where the night takes him, he thinks as he looks down, wrapping a loose fist around his hardening cock, and letting green eyes and a wicked, pretty mouth in his mind’s eye take him over the edge.
He putters around the rest of the day, making a list to compare with Gwen’s when they meet; he reads for a while, and feeds the cat, feeling an unnameable itch under his skin.
PenCorp keeps its starship crews on in between missions, and Merlin has no family to speak of, so he’s not hurting for credits; his balance is good, and he has ready funds available.
He tells himself, even as he wanders around his flat, picking things up and putting them down again, tripping over the cat, that he’s not going back to the Flesh District. He’s not going to seek out Mordred again. Merlin may have a habit of picking up strays (the cat is just the latest in a long line), but that doesn’t mean he needs to extend that to human beings …
Sighing, Merlin lifts his jacket from the hook by the door, checking the time before he heads out, hoping to find a ‘scoot nearby. 10pm, he thinks, making his way down to the ground, grimacing at the permanent humidity that sticks to his skin every time.
It was later, the last time, so there’s a possibility that Mordred’s …. working, or that he won’t be out somewhere else, and Merlin won’t be able to find him anyway.
Merlin has this back-and-forth argument with himself as he walks down the street, heading for a ‘scoot park on the corner. There’s a couple of ‘scoots there, and he takes one, settling astride it.
No more thinking, he decides suddenly. He’s not out at 10 o clock at night for some kind of think tank. No, he’s out to …. well. What would Gwaine call it? Get his end away, though Merlin knows Gwaine would be far more blunt than that.
He laughs to himself as he programmes his destination into the ‘scoot’s Nav.
The Flesh District of London is relatively small, an odd centre hub of the far larger city, but it’s a dense clutch of streets, side-streets and high buildings, with the hospital on the outskirts.
Merlin pauses the ‘scoot at an intersection and closes his eyes. He doesn’t use his magic much, rarely needs to, and he feels vaguely guilty using it find Mordred, but he taps into the memory anyway, touches his brand, and lets the pathways open up in front of him.
He enters the data into the ‘nav, and powers the ‘scoot through the crowded streets, not letting himself think about what he’s doing.
He spots Mordred in the same place, wearing, Merlin thinks, the same clothes. He’s leaning against a building, one foot propped behind him, his hips arching up over the top of his jeans. Merlin licks his lips as he navigates the ‘scoot into a nearby park, feeling the strong spike of want in his blood.
He’s less hesitant than he was last time, but he still pauses when he realises Mordred is talking to someone that Merlin hadn’t noticed. He’s tall, taller than Mordred, and he’s smiling down at him as Mordred talks, his shunt flashing in the neon of the streetlights.
Merlin hovers, uncertain, but then the guy looks up, raising his eyebrows before putting his hand on Mordred’s wrist, nodding his head to where Merlin is standing.
Merlin swallows, resisting the urge to clear his throat as Mordred turns, grinning when he sees who it is.
Mordred pushes off the wall and tilts his head, and Merlin wishes he could see his eyes better; to see how far he is into the pop he’s no doubt got running through his blood.
“Back for round two, pretty? Couldn’t stay away?”
Merlin licks his lips again, and wonders what it is about Mordred that makes him feel like he’s losing his mind and his self-control piece-by-piece.
“I uh - it looks like - “ Merlin’s throat dries up as he makes an abortive gesture towards Mordred’s - client?
Mordred glances between them, his grin bright and sudden. “No need to worry pretty. Gareth’s workin, like me. You want a deal? Two for one?”
Mordred raises an eyebrow, like a challenge, and Merlin feels himself flushing under his gaze.
“Ah. Um. No. I mean, just - just you.”
The other guy - Gareth - pushes a hand through his hair and for some reason Merlin’s briefly reminded of Gwaine, He shakes it off as Gareth touches Mordred’s hand again.
“I’m gonna head to Flame. See if I can’t make up some credits, yeah?”
Merlin watches quietly as Mordred turns to Gareth, studying his face. “You send me a message, you get in trouble, yeah? Pretty here won’t mind. He’s - he’s nice.”
Gareth nods and darts a smile at Merlin who can’t interpret what Mordred’s just said, but he waits until Gareth has disappeared into the night.
Mordred turns back, stepping suddenly into Merlin’s space, resting a hand on Merlin’s waist.
“Missed you, pretty,” he says softly, tilting his face up and lowering his eyelids until his lashes leave sweeping shadows on his cheeks.
“Did you,” Merlin says, hearing the rough tone in his voice as he reaches out himself, touching Mordred’s upper arm, careful to avoid his Shunt.
“Yeah, pretty. C’mon. Gotta be a hotel, okay? Flatmate’s home, she’s sleeping …”
Merlin falls into step beside Mordred, half-listening to him ramble, taking quiet note of when Mordred’s speech falls out of the Flesh District slang and into something more measured.
He starts slightly when he realises Mordred’s stopped talking. “Uh … sorry?”
“I said, pretty, is a hotel okay? You didn’t say...”
“Oh, right, sorry, I was. Distracted. That’s, uh, that’s fine.”
Mordred leads them down a couple more streets, pointing to a nondescript tall building that looks to Merlin exactly like every other building in the Flesh District.
They go in, he pays for a room for the night, not even thinking about it, and leads Mordred to it, pushing him against the closed and locked door once they’re on the right side of it.
Merlin kisses him then, long and slow, his hands pressed into Mordred’s hips.
Mordred presses against him, opening his mouth, flicking his tongue over Merlin’s bottom lip, and Merlin sighs, letting himself fall into Mordred’s mouth, and his wicked green eyes, that have seen far too much for his age.
They break the kiss and Merlin’s so hard already, he feels a little dizzy with it. Mordred is watching him, his head tilted back so his neck is arched, his adam’s apple curving out and his tendons a tempting line that Merlin wants to just, bite down on.
He smooths a hand down one side of Mordred’s neck and flicks up his eyes to meet Mordred’s hooded gaze. “Can I. Can I leave uh, marks. On, on your neck?”
Mordred licks his lips, slow, his tongue dragging out and back in, leaving behind a tempting sheen.
“Whatever you like pretty. Night’s on you.”
Merlin nods, his head feeling weak on his shoulders before he presses one hand back against Mordred’s hips, then applies his mouth to the line of Mordred’s neck, licking at first, tasting skin and sweat; and something else under that; something sweet and slightly corrupt, but still addictive.
Merlin presses the line of his body against Mordred’s; feels the hard line of his cock against his hip like a trace element. Merlin digs his teeth into Mordred’s tendon without warning, sucking at the skin until the blood rises to the surface, aware of Mordred clinging to his shoulders and moaning softly as Merlin sucks the same spot over and over until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark that will linger for days.
He feels his magic, then; curling lazily under his skin, pushing at the brand on his wrist and he pulls back, licking his lips and reaching down to rub over the brand until it soothes again, his magic calming under his touch.
Mordred sags against the door, one hand still clutched on Merlin’s shoulder, the other gently touching the mark on his neck.
“Fucking hell, pretty, something got under your skin tonight?” Mordred’s voice sounds wrecked already, and it goes straight to Merlin’s cock.
He takes Mordred’s hand and tugs him towards the bed in the corner, barely registering the sparse nature of the room.
“Someone” he says, pulling Mordred down with him.
Merlin takes his time, this time; not feeling the same desperate edge as before. He marks as much of Mordred’s skin as he can, leaving purpling bruises on his neck, over the hollow of his hip, his inner thigh.
Mordred just laughs, low and dark, tangling his hands in the sheets, and Merlin knows he’s lost; he’s gone, for this boy that he hardly knows.
They lie side by side on the bed after, close, but not quite touching. Merlin’s sated and exhausted; he’s sweat-slick and feels sticky. There’s air circulating, but the hotel’s filters must be blocked, because it’s far too warm.
Mordred is sprawled on his front, his head turned towards Merlin and his eyes half-closed.
“Are you .. all right? With your - I mean - “
Mordred blinks, slow and smiles.
“Yeah, pretty. ‘m fine. Don’t need anythin for a few more hours. Some sleep ‘s’all.”
Merlin reaches out, tracing a finger over a mark he’s left at the base of Mordred’s spine.
“You don’t want to clean up first? I got a room with a bathroom attached … “
Mordred groans and buries his head in the pillow.
“Sleep, pretty, y’wore me out.”
“Come on,” Merlin says, laying his hand flat against Mordred’s back. “Nice cool water, then we can sleep here, and I’ll take you home tomorrow …”
Mordred turns his head again, and offers a half-hearted grin. “Will you wash my hair for me too?”
Merlin snorts and pushes himself up, holding out his hand once he’s standing. Mordred grumbles but he reaches out and lets Merlin pull him up.
Mordred’s Shunt catches the low light of the room, and Merlin finds himself reaching out, gently running his finger over the skin around it. It’s no hotter than the rest of Mordred’s skin, which Merlin knows is a good sign.
“Flatmate’s a nurse,” Mordred says quietly, not moving. “She checks the damn thing every day.”
Merlin glances up, but he can’t read anything in Mordred’s expression. “I … sorry. I’m a, uh, MedTech. Habit I guess?”
Mordred snorts, but pulls his arm gently out of Merlin’s light grasp. “Figures, pretty. C’mon. Shower?”
Merlin nods and follows Mordred into the small, clinical bathroom that’s little more than a toilet, sink and shower head over a drain.
“Run it hot,” he says to Mordred. “I can cover the hot water.”
Mordred nods and Merlin doesn’t miss the way he licks his lips at the idea of hot running water, a luxury now for all but the wealthiest with power credits running higher and higher.
There’s a small shelf near the shower head, containing shampoo and some kind of gel. Mordred adjusts the temperature and eyes the bottle hopefully before turning his wicked green eyes back to Merlin.
“Come on in, magic man. Water’s nice n hot.”
Merlin laughs softly, surprised anything can force its way past the dry knot in his throat. The sight of Mordred standing under running water, the spray flattening his black hair to his skull, drops sliding down his body … Merlin steps under quickly, waiting for the spray to widen to accommodate both of them.
He slides his hands down Mordred’s wet shoulders and arms, careful to avoid his Shunt. He just can’t stop touching and he would be worried about his impulse control, but for now, just for right now, Merlin gives himself permission to stop thinking.
He reaches for the small bottle and says, “Turn around,” softly to Mordred. He holds up the bottle so Mordred knows his intentions and the returning grin is nearly enough to make Merlin drop everything and drag Mordred back to his own flat and just, he just -
“You, uh, you wanted me to wash your hair?”
Mordred shuffles back slightly, looking down, and if it weren’t for the heat of the water, Merlin would swear his face was flushing red.
“I, uh. You don’t have to, I shouldn’t ask - “
Merlin frowns at the sudden change and reaches out with his free hand, rubbing his thumb over Mordred’s wrist, where he can feel his pulse start to pick up.
“Mordred. It’s all right. I want to. Come on. Turn around.”
Mordred studies Merlin’s face for a long moment, his eyes searching. Merlin waits, patiently, and tries not to think about the drops of water clinging to Mordred’s eyelashes. Finally, Mordred half-shrugs and turns so his back is to Merlin.
Merlin pours out a small amount of shampoo, rubbing it in his palms before carefully digging into Mordred’s hair. For a long moment, the only sound is the water going down the drain and the heavy tick of Mordred’s breathing as Merlin’s fingers dig through the thick strands of his hair and into the shape of his skull underneath.
Sighing a little Merlin steps closer so he’s flush against Mordred’s back. He’s hard, again, but he’s content to wait; to give Mordred back the smallest kindness.
“Good?” he murmurs against the back of Mordred’s neck, careful to avoid the site of Mordred’s MedNano ‘plant.
“Mmm...” is all that Merlin gets in response, but Mordred’s eyes are closed and his head is tilted back against Merlin’s shoulder now, as the suds run down and out the drain.
Merlin slides his hands down, resting them on Mordred’s hips, feeling tension bleed out of Mordred’s shoulders as he just stands with Merlin, taking the care on offer.
Carefully, Merlin reaches out and switches off the controls to the shower. He keeps a steady grip on Mordred, whose eyes blink open slowly. He frowns for a moment, then turns around to face Merlin.
“You all right?” Merlin asks softly, tilting Mordred’s chin up so he can check his eyes.
“Um - yeah. Sorry for uh, spacing on you.”
“That’s all right. Come on - lets get some sleep yeah?”
Mordred just nods, and lets Merlin dry him off, standing passively as he does so.
“Sorry … I uh. Weird head space?”
Mordred shakes his head as though to clear it and glances up at Merlin from under his lashes.
“It’s all right, Mordred. It’s fine. Go - go and get into bed. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Mordred nods and makes his way out of the small bathroom. Merlin watches through the open door as Mordred climbs under the covers, nesting himself in the bundle of sheets and blankets, making Merlin smile softly at the sight of it.
Sighing, he picks up another clean towel, making a mental note to add credits for the hot water to his bill the next morning.
He stares at himself in the mirror, his own hair still damp and sticking up in places, his normally pale skin flushed red from the heat of the water - and, he knows, from something completely unrelated to water.
He turns his wrist over and stares at his magic brand for a moment, feeling the tendrils of it curl lazily and happily under his skin. He brushes a thumb over the brand, feeling the raised lines of it; noting absently that the gold in the iris of it will need to be re-done before they head off on the mining mission.
Merlin dries himself off slowly, letting his thoughts skitter away; not trying to catch hold of anything. He drops the towel and sighs, feeling a kind of exhausted lassitude settle into his bones.
He drags himself back into the bedroom and into the bed; curling his long frame around Mordred’s slightly smaller one. Mordred is already asleep; his breathing even and deep.
Merlin carefully fits himself to the curve of Mordred’s back, sliding an arm around his waist; careful to avoid the Shunt in his arm.
Mordred doesn’t move, except to push back against Merlin slightly; his breathing doesn’t change at all, except for a soft sigh.
Merlin bites back his own sigh, pressing his lips lightly to the back of Mordred’s neck.
“What,” he says softly to the sensitive skin there, “are you getting me into?”
He gets no answer in return, just Mordred shuffling back against him again. Merlin sighs and lets his eyes slide shut, letting himself enjoy the sensation of having someone in his arms again as he falls asleep.
He fucks Mordred again in the morning, before they sign out. Mordred’s nearer the edge now; Merlin knows he’s feeling the pull of his addiction by the way he digs his blunt nails into Merlin’s shoulders as he rides him. Mordred’s green eyes are hazy and his pupils are endless black holes that Merlin keeps falling deeper and deeper into.
Mordred stays close, as they shower again, get dressed and Merlin pays for the room and the extra hot water.
“All right?” he asks, pushing a hand through Mordred’s hair as they walk to a ‘scoot park on the corner.
Mordred nods, curling a hand around Merlin’s arm. “Yeah. Just - need a pop is all. ‘M fine.”
Merlin says nothing else as he guides Mordred down the street to the ‘scoot park. He helps him on to the back of a double ‘scoot, then programmes the address of Mordred’s building into the ‘nav.
They ride back in silence, Mordred’s head tipped forward against Merlin’s neck.
Merlin parks up outside the building and waits for Mordred to slip off behind him. He digs into his credits and tips the right amount into Mordred’s hands.
Mordred blinks and closes his fist around them, clutching tight.
“Thanks, magic man. See you again.”
Merlin laughs slightly at the nickname and impulsively reaches out to push back a stray lock of Mordred’s hair. “Take care,” is all he can think of to say, before he reprogrammes the ‘scoot and aims it for home.
Part Three